


A Body Bleeds For This Coalition

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Ink Me, Like One Of Your Nagel Girls [3]
Category: Duran Duran, Duran Duran (Music Videos)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Band nods, Body Image, Body Modification, Body Worship, Canon nods, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Life long friends, M/M, Men Crying, Moving On, Muscles, New ink, Soft Boys, Tattoos and Piercings, coming home, drumming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: A wayward Taylor comes home, ready to have inked a new story worth its publish.Tattoo and Piercing Shop AU.
Relationships: John Taylor/Roger Taylor (Duran Duran), Nick Rhodes/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Series: Ink Me, Like One Of Your Nagel Girls [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664626
Comments: 11
Kudos: 9





	A Body Bleeds For This Coalition

Flicking aimlessly through his diary, making a mental note of the work he had today, JT’s fingers came to land on something new. Something special. His heart practically leapt out of his chest upon reading the name, reciting it, black finger nail tracing a circle around the circle Nicki had already drawn in purple: adding extra emphasis to the appointment.

JT couldn’t wait, he was nervous and couldn’t lie. He would swallow his pride, his guilt, as best as he could and was determined to make this appointment last. The man was still so special to him; JT only hoped that he still meant something to the man. They had began tattooing together. He was a natural, with rhythmical and hard hitting strokes. His movements were broad and strong, yet ever so intricate.

Unlike JT, he had never missed a beat. Never missed his cue.

Pushing his glasses up higher on his face, for some strange reason he had felt a sudden need to wear them today, tattooist JT briefly scanned the room. There was a dull whir of a tattoo gun from down the hall, he knew Cuccoo was occupied. And then, he giggled, a shrill scream. It wasn’t Nicki, though in JT’s perverse mind that was _totally_ Nicki as JT mercilessly entered his— ahem, it wasn’t Nicki.

He was piercing a chick’s nipples today. She had waltzed in shaking, Madonna curls dropping into her eyes and five layers of black lace quaking around her form. Her friend was with her, she pretty much looked the same although she wore far more gaudy beads than her friend.

JT had just finished up with a client and had bid him goodbye. The man, Russell something, had opted for the classic skulls and roses trailing down his arms. There was something about him, the business man, that had potential. Always seeking out the right tattoo talent and making them big. JT would keep him in mind, he really would.

The studio was packed, full of sex-crazed teens hoping that a new bar through them would be enough to satisfy them for now. Nicki was generally very fast, very skilled, although there had been a couple instances in which he had had to send the odd client away or had them walk out. The wait time had been too long, it was nobody’s fault really. They had a variety of ‘stage hands,’ as JT liked to call them, working here too, however it still plagued JT’s mind: they needed another piercer. Nicki needed help, help that he couldn’t give.

That only upset JT all the more.

Cuccoo had his fair share of piercings too. Typically you were one or the other, needles in your ears as opposed to needles scraping all over your skin. Cuccoo was that rare breed, as was JT, that he so loved. Balancing his ink out with his jewels, wanting his jewels to shine against the ink. And vice-versa. Cuccoo had only been pierced by Nicki once, he had been here for about half a year now and honestly hadn’t gotten around to the notorious piercer modifying his delicious tan skin. Both nipples, JT wasn’t even surprised. Cuccoo took it like a man, barely flinching, content with watching a little blood trickle down and Nicki’s deft hands wiping it away.

It was truly an erotic sight, watching his best mate be pinned (literally) down like that, if JT was honest with himself. Seeing Nicki working himself so hard. And Cuccoo, well, yeah. Him too.

JT coughed, leather constricting at the mere memory.

His mind drifted to the diary at reception. He was mentally counting down until his next appointment, the one with the man so special he made JT forget his own name. His real one, completely whooshed away.

“Hey! Welcome to _Skin Trade!_ How can I help you?” He plastered his pasty skin in his best front page grin, beckoning in his newest hopeful clientele.

“You do walk-in’s, right?” The couple seemed hopeful, hand in hand.

A quick scan in the diary he knew he had time for them, but to look ultra professional (and an excuse to see the boss in saucy leather trousers in the next room) JT excused himself to ‘double check.’

He skipped his way through to Nicki’s studio, chains clinking on his hip and tank top riding up. He knocked first, three taps - “ _is there Anyone Out There? Anyone outside?_ ” - Nicki knew exactly who was out there, and he slid in.

“Just JT, _turning it up to get sleazy_.”

The girl with very sore nipples waved at him. It was her friend’s turn. She was being smart and opting for an industrial bar through her ear. Albeit a real bitch to heal, the stand out piercing was increasing in popularity again. Nicki would never tire of making multiple holes in one person during one appointment. It was that extra bit more rewarding somehow.

JT gave Nicki a quick slap on his leather clad butt, ignoring his surprised ‘hey!’ before reeling him in. JT just wanted time to sniff his golden locks, the black underneath. That’s all. There was absolutely nothing straining against Nicki’s thigh, obviously.

Without word, JT sauntered back out with a grin firmly in place.

“Indeed I _do_ have time for ya both, what is it you’d like?”

The better portion of his hour was taken up. The young couple were very friendly, more than eager for his needles to shine and _show them all she can,_ pierce them good. The woman, with flowing raven black hair, had a delicious septum ring that caught JT’s shielded eye. He had been considering a new piercing but had been struggling for space enough as it is! Perhaps he would have to get a second opinion.

“I’ve ‘eard that some tattooists name their guns. Do ya?” JT smirked; thick Dudley accent piercing the air.

“Indeed I do ma’am!” He stopped for a moment, brining his prized piece up to her face, “her name is _Rio_.”

“Like, the city?”

“Yeah, Brazil I ‘spose.”

“She _dances_ on the skin, huh?”

JT beamed.

More than eager to embarrass the crap out of himself, he staggered his gait and nudged the needle back into her cream skin. “Movin’ on the skin now babe, you’re a,” JT inhaled, “bird of pa-ra- _dise!_ ”

The laughter rang through his studio.

“Yeah, I’m no singer. Lyricist maybe... Someday?”

Her husband was tatted to hell and back, pretty much. Together they opted for snakes, somehow it showed their union. Or something. JT was a little unsure but the idea sounded totally near so he was totally down for it: two serpents winding down their wrists.

Spraying the woman’s hand a final time, he admired both snakes with a smile. He had done a good job, ‘gnarly’ as he kept being told. He bid the couple farewell, after booking her husband in for a second tattoo - _win_ , for next Saturday.

Saturday. Why did Saturday ring a bell? Was he meant to be elsewhere? Did he and Nicki have a date? Or… no. JT’s mind stumbled, he wasn’t sure where he was headed.

He collapsed onto the plush leather in the front of _Skin Trade_ , chatting to a hot mother about her daughter getting her lobes done for the first time. She was a little nervous, the girl was only eight, but JT reassured them both.

“You have absolutely _nothin’_ to worry about, sweetie,” he swung himself around to face her. “Nicki’s the best we’ve got, he’ll never hurt you!”

She giggled, still shy about it.

“He’s done all of mine and I’ve never been hurt!” JT chimed, shoving a hand into his hair to remove his bandana and show off his colourful ear.

“Wow!” The little girl was amazed, eyes wide. She tried to count. She didn’t get very far.

“I have six! Can you believe it, _six?!_ ” JT finished for her.

“Wow, what ‘bout the other?” She repeated, gaze totally transfixed on the silver drop hanging from his ear.

“Look Atlanta, he has five in his left ear!”

“Wow!”

JT gave them both a mental walk through of both ears. JT had three in each lobe, two cartilages in his left to make five. He had his orbital, connecting the outer ear with inner folds, a forward helix and another cartilage in his right. All in all, eleven ear piercings. Plus his eyebrow and lips. Plus the nipple.

Fourteen was whole hell of a lot but he just can’t get enough!

Then the time came, JT wished her luck again and she hugged him nice and tight. JT was flattered, bringing his huge hands around his ‘pint sized piercing princess.’ She laughed at his little nickname, kissing him on the painted cheek. She made a funny face, tasting his blusher. That only made JT laugh harder.

He was good with kids although thankfully his job meant that they had to stay the hell away.

“Come find me in ten years, I’ll draw you a pretty butterfly!”

Atlanta was beaming, twirling in her mother’s grip.

“Can I mum? Can I, can I?!”

“Of course sweetie!” Her voice was light although she was glaring daggers at JT. “Not a chance in hell.” She whispered as she slid by him, her own neck tattoo on show.

He plopped himself back down, watching piercing customer after customer walk on by. JT felt a little restless now, glancing at his watch, knowing he still had a while until his next appointment. Maybe he could go bug Cuccoo in the back, have a laugh at whatever monstrosity he was expertly covering up today.

JT was about to do just that, halfway to his feet, when the door chimed. On _Reflex_ , he whipped himself around, suddenly blinded by the light as it seeped through the bay window. He swung an arm up to his face, now transfixed, mouth dropping open and eyes jumping out of their sockets.

The man before him smiled, full of warmth. He awaited JT’s reaction with patience, arms already open for him to jump into.

JT did just that.

“ _Rog!_ ” He practically threw himself into that strong grip, reeling him in nice and tight.

“Hey, Johnny,” Rog’s breath tickled his ear, his hoops swinging in the small breeze, “have you missed me?”

“Fuck yeah I’ve missed ya!” JT didn’t want to pull away just yet. Rog didn’t seem to mind.

He hugged him again, burying his overgrown hair in Rog’s elongated neck.

“Hey, hey! Please, please tell me now,” Rog began, with a chuckle, “what the actual _hell_ is happenin’ with all this shaggy hair?!”

He fingered JT’s bandana, slipping it from him. JT broke away, eager to retrieve it.

They wrestled about a little, JT fighting a losing battle as his wannabe mullet kept dropping into his eyes.

“No fair, I need that to see!”

“That’s what the specs are for, Johnny.”

JT rolled his eyes, not that Rog could see that.

Taking JT’s hand, and taking JT’s breath away with it, he held him tight as together they headed down a once so familiar route for Rog, delving deeper into the bowels of _Skin Trade._ What was once his home.

They laughed and joked, JT determined to stop him in his tracks just to get a better look at the man he called home. His other half, his _better_ half, JT still felt oddly incomplete without his fellow Tattooing Taylor, he really did. He missed Rog like mad, wishing he was still working away in the booth next door. JT longed for the days in which the business was just getting started, before they could afford the extension and were sharing equipment. Sharing chairs, flipping between the two Taylors. Then _three_ but that was another story.

At least now they could all rightfully afford what they needed when they needed it.

They began the familiar trek down to JT’s studio. As always, he greeted each and every one of his posters and vinyl sleeves that plastered the vibrant walls. Rog just grinned, following JT’s lead. Although Rog, the much more sophisticated of the bunch, only really payed attention to the fifties icons further on down the line. The records that he had added to JT’s wall of fame, the covers JT just couldn’t bear to see go like he watched Rog leave.

JT was humming something, Rog immediately picked up on his beat.

“New lyrics?”

“Kinda, I guess?” JT pivoted around to him, still tattooed hand in hand, “this couple got two serpents earlier today. They kept going on about the _Union Of The Snake_ and what it meant to them? I dunno, it was weird stuff.”

“Not wild enough for the _Wild Boys_ though, is it Johnny?”

Both Taylors were shining bright.

There was just something in the air, _blowing change. Blowing through JT’s doorway_.

A very _Big Thing._

The zodiac freak in JT emerged. “Is it a new moon or something? That why in feelin’ all weird?”

“On _Monday_ , yeah. Not today.”

“Oh okay, thought as much. Better not be a bloody Mercury retrograde!” JT barked.

He held out a tattooed hand, the one with Nicki’s roses lovingly caressing it, welcoming Rog into his sanctuary. The Taylor sanctuary where, it didn’t matter how long of a break he took, Rog still belonged. JT still needed him, needed his positive energy and supportive vibes. The democrat within the tattooist, or should he say _drummer_ now?

The words rang though JT’s mind.

_“I told you, sort out that damn guitar of yours and play with me! Why don’t you use it? You’ve bought enough time, now you’ll lose it!”_

_“Bass. I’m thinking I should switch to bass._

_“The six strings are too much for you? Reflexes, not quick enough?”_

_“Yeah, it’s fooling about with my chances on the danger line.”_

_“Your... chances on the what?”_

_“… just let me finding a helping hand. Oh-woah.”_

He shook it from his head.

JT turned back to Rog, who was staring at him. Intently. As though he was trying to read JT like the open book he always could; he always had known John better than JT had known John, it seemed.

And once again, Rog flashed him that dreamboat smile that made JT weak in the knees and his chest ache. He momentarily forgot how to speak.

He hadn’t even realised how deep into his trance he was until Rog was right in front of him, beckoning him down to lock onto his piercing gaze. He was smiling, softly, handsome face mere inches from JT. JT took a moment to admire, to re-familiarise himself with the man he had lost, a colleague and friend. He still couldn’t believe his luck, Rog waltzing back here was more than anything he could’ve asked for: never mind wanting JT’s tools in him again.

He found himself leaning in, ruby painted lips dangerously close to another parted set.

“Um, JT? _Calling Planet Earth_ to JT?”

JT threw himself at Rog again, shaking.

“Johnny, hey Johnny don’t—” Rog silenced himself, although it didn’t take much, upon feeling the familiar quake of the taller Taylor’s shoulders. “It’s _okay_ , I… John, John I’m here now, it’s okay.”

Rog just stayed still, letting JT crumble all around him. As always, then and now, he was the glue to patch him back up, to pick him up when he was down. To shove the tattoo gun back into his hand when JT felt he just couldn’t anymore, to cheer him on as he finished another masterpiece.

Pulling away, Rog felt his heart snap in two. His heated gaze landed back on JT who’s tears were amplified by his thick frames. His cheeks were tinted red, the blusher didn’t help, he was more than embarrassed by his actions.

JT slipped from him a moment, rubbing profusely at his face and smearing more of his mascara in the process. He swore at seeing the remnants of it on his hands.

Careful not to overstep any more boundaries, Rog took the once so familiar three strides to the back of JT’s studio. His teary eyes watched as Rog turned, opening the top drawer. JT knew what he was looking for, he was touched by the thought.

Rog simply held out a hand, JT nodded.

He perched atop his own chair so Rog could reach him, tissues in one hand and eyeliner in the other. He patched JT up, the same way he had hundreds of times before, running the tissue under his eyes to rid him of any remnants of tears. All the smudges, imperfections of his skin were gone too. JT caught his gaze, opening wide as Rog applied the colour. His hands were strong, masculine and strong, even calloused as they were from his drumsticks; JT still whined at the contact. He relaxed his inky shoulders, his spine, and leant into Rog’s embrace. Let him build him back up, once again.

Rog was humming something, something about a world? It being _ordinary?_

“I learnt to survive John, I know you still need time but so will you.”

“… Pride will tear us both apart.”

At that, Rog stopped his movements. Heart skipping on the track. Shaking his head, his _James Dean_ -esque quiff drooping into his eyes, he reached for the small diamond encrusted hand mirror that he knew was never too far away. JT was a handsome fella, he loved to look at himself. More often than not.

This was one of the rare times that he couldn’t raise his eyes. Hiding behind the thick rimmed frames.

“Don’t cry for yesterday John, it’s not worth it.” Rog’s voice was soft, he was now sat beside JT on his leather chair.

He snaked a deft hand up around JT’s neck, bringing him in tight. JT immediately _felt the heat_ and decided that yes, _he can go on_ : burying his face in Rog’s neck once more. That steadied him, when did it not?

Cuccoo waltzed in talking about whatever the hell. His eyes widened, catching the sadness in JT’s and simply, he backed away. JT silently thanked him, still clinging to Rog’s supportive frame.

Tripping up a little over his tongue as he said it, Rog politely asked JT if he could have his body back and if they could get to the task at hand. He was here for a cover up, even though JT wondered why he hadn’t done it himself.

“Because I missed you.” Came the reply.

JT forced down another set of tears and grabbed his notepad.

“You put it on me, you cover it up for me.” Rog winked, stripping himself of his leather trousers.

JT watched, ashamed for doing so, as Rog bared his muscular thighs and strong calves. He looked good, hot, he had been working out more now that he wasn’t working here anymore. He really looked as though the light was shining on him again and Rog was happy to take on his share of the spotlight.

JT saw it, he had never forgotten what he did.

They had been learning to tattoo together. Drinks had been poured and guns had come out. A line had been huffed and _somewhere, somehow,_ a particular _someone_ who didn’t deserve it in the slightest; had to pay. Had a new edition inked on his leg. JT had felt awful about it, barely able to recall that night of debauchery. He had been meaning to patch Rog up for years now although, turns out, he had gotten quite accustomed to the little frog face tattoo on his thigh. It was poorly done, poorly shaded but it was reminiscent of baby JT and their early days together. Being called ‘Froggie Barnacle’ for reasons that had been stretched so far, Rog wasn’t too sure he could remember where the nickname had come from. What it truly meant.

All that they knew was, it was time for a change. Rog was always mature, well mannered with his head screwed on straight. He was growing up again, entering a new phase of his life and needed his little comical frog gone.

JT would be replacing it with a much grander, more elaborate portrait. Something both Taylors knew would sum him up as a person, as a man, much better. Rog deserved the world, whether he was by JT’s side or not: JT would do his best to give it him. It was Rog for crying out loud.

His Froggie. JT still had the line interwoven on his rib cage, in fancy script. As did Rog. _The Princess And The Froggie._ Not that Rog really was a frog or anything, they were both princes. A gang of princes. A gang of Taylor princes: the more the merrier.

It was as though Rog knew exactly what was inking itself into JT’s mind. He slipped a deft hand under the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up to expose his chest. JT read the words, reciting them out loud as the smile caressed his face and his cheeks coloured with it. That tattoo had been done on a special _November Tuesday_ two years ago. They had worked on each other, content with branding the other Taylor with their colours, their name.

JT yanked up his tank, showing Rog those sacred words. There had been a couple new editions to his skin after Rog had left but those weren’t important now. What mattered now was Rog and his cover up. Rog and his happiness.

JT held his breath, tinged with cigarette smoke, as he kneeled before Rog. He had the template in hand, lining it up perfectly, ready to bid their childish antics goodbye. Peeling it away, JT’s fingers trailed further down on his skin, smoothing out any creases and imperfections the template had left behind.

He guided Rog to the mirror, chancing a hand on the small of his back, to check it out. He graced JT with that same million dollar smile he had the day _Skin Trade_ opened its doors, more than ready to take on the world. Rog nodded readily, following JT’s lead back into the thick of it; slipping into the chair.

“You know the _drill,_ Rog,” JT giggled slightly, it was such a terrible pun but he couldn’t refrain from using it every time someone was about to get inked.

Together they talked and talked. JT’s skilled fingers poked and prodded, needle slicing through Rog’s gorgeously tanned skin. Rog always sat exceptionally well, as though nothing could phase him. He was laying on his back, arms behind his head exposing his delectable biceps. JT squinted, trying to read what was now branded on the inside of his left: _La Revolution Surrealiste_. Of course.

Rog was the type for small and meaningful tats, minimalist styles in blacks and greys. He was pretty bare when sat next to JT but then again, pretty much everybody was!

He had a list of tattooing conventions he had participated in, the small typewriter font going up the inside of his right forearm. His left arm was free save for a daring thick black band, that fizzled out around his upper arm. It had two thinner bands beneath it. Above a thin arrow full of geometric triangles and line work, dot work and shading.

Like Nicki, he also had the confusing lexical ‘Arcadia’ inked, Rog’s on his collar bone with a rose to match. JT still didn’t get it. He didn’t need to.

Rog also had a couple quotes hidden on his torso, a favourite by _James Dean_ appearing in fancy script across his hip bone. If anything, the art he was getting today was by far the most dominating of his collection. A _Marilyn Monroe_ portrait, one of Rog’s ultimate icons, to replace the little frog that was no longer so little.

And, perhaps JT’s favourite, one he did for Rog right at the start of their tattooing gig: _Est. Neychelles, April 1960_ in a classic font, resembling that of the 50’s jerseys worn in _Grease_ and _West Side Story._

“What about somethin’ new on the ole pasty arm?” JT cocked just head up, nodding to Rog’s painfully available skin.

JT just had far too many ideas running wild through his creative mind. He always did, when he saw such beautiful skin with such potential. Rog just smiled at him. That was enough of an answer: he’d be back someday, albeit it perhaps many years from now.

The day fizzled out as quick as JT could swipe the excess ink from Rog’s skin. The portrait was a long and arduous task, thankfully both Taylors took it like the champs they were.

JT even managed to sweet talk him into a second tat: _Wild Boys_ inked straight across his knuckles. Just like JT’s own.

Groaning, Rog rose to seated and then to standing; letting JT help take his weight. Like any client, he still felt a little shaky once it was all over; the sudden rush coming to crash back down into a more tranquil wave flooding his mind. Together the Taylors began the oh so familiar trek into the front of the studio, JT flicking the lights as he bop-bopped his way down.

Although it wasn’t exactly the first time they had experimented in such a way: Rog was being guided down the corridor, blindfolded.

What could JT say? Bandanas has their purposes and _his_ purposes.

Nicki was waiting for them, nose deep into the month’s edition of _Vogue_. Without warning, JT practically threw himself over the sofa, using those lengthy limbs to his advantage. Ignoring Nicki’s surprised gasp, he threw the magazine from his grip and reeled him in. Kissed him, hard.

JT was giddy, tongue prying in as far as he could go, eager fingers caressing the piercer’s suddenly heated skin. Breaking away, a sly grin painted the flush in JT’s face. His breaths were coming quick and he was now grinning like a loon. Both breathless, they couldn’t tear their eyes away from the other. JT wouldn’t have had it any other way.

There would be time for pleasantries afterwards, it wouldn’t be fair to make Rog wait any longer.

Although the needle had been in his perfect line of sight the entire time, Rog had done his best to block it from his mind. They both knew, Taylor telepathy, just how much more special the tattoo was if you managed to keep it a secret. Savour the precious moment for the reveal, artist by your side.

The Taylor boys did just that.

JT slipped through bandana from Rog’s eyes, immediately sending a hand up to re-ruffle and spike up his jay black hair. The moment was soft, two sets of chocolate browns locking onto each other and sharing the warmth of the tender embrace. Again, Rog was smiling ever so bright.

He stepped aside, giving Rog his full share of the spotlight.

“You… you know, uh, like it?” JT’s voice was trembling, it was hard to go unnoticed.

Rog turned to him, piercing gaze _burning him up. Ready or not._

Without word, although JT could’ve poorly sung his relief from the rooftops for the entirety of New Street to hear, he was pulled in for a much needed, reunion hug. JT interwove his lanky frame into Rog’s small and muscular one; being sure to inhale his scent and study the contours of his body. The way he contorted, arched up to meet JT’s body with his own.

Bidding farewell to another wayward Taylor was always the hardest part. JT refuses to dwell on it, forcing a smile as he watched Rog’s figure slip deeper into the inky black that was New Street at night; doused with fresh rain.

He held a soft, deft hand in his own as JT ripped his shielded gaze from the murky, lonesome street.

He would never forget the beaming look on Rog’s face as he said hello to his darling Marilyn.

That was a reward, for JT, in and of itself.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m creeping into this AU a whole hell of a lot. JT’s piercings, minus the eyebrow and lip, are indeed inspired by all of mine. All eleven in my ears, by seventeen! 🤘🏼
> 
> He also has a nipple pierced, the other begging for Nicki’s bitter sweet touch. When corona is over hopefully I’ll be getting mine both pierced too. Plus another Duran tat. By the looks of it, I’ll have many months to ponder that...


End file.
